The Tree
by vandevere
Summary: XF/L&O A tree grows in Central Park. Sequel to "Life in Purgatory" and "The Great Hunt"
1. Chapter 1

_Note: This references characters and events in the L &O episode, "Scoundrels"_

 _1995_

This was the year it had all come apart for John Curren. Swindled by Willard Tappan, then swindled _again_ by Arthur Kapinski…

 _And Jack McCoy too…_

The DA had convinced Curren to plead guilty to killing Kapinski, so he could prosecute Tappan.

 _Then McCoy disappeared on me…_

Sure, McCoy's assistant-Claire Kincaid-had told Curren it was a sudden breakdown; and the next thing Curren knew, _Kincaid_ was the DA. But she hadn't had whatever it took to nail Tappan.

End result was that Tappan walked away from it all, still safe at that half-way house, picking up the trash, while Curren was stuck in prison, doing hard time; and the shit fest hadn't stopped there…

It was a prison-break, the kind you read about in books and saw in movies; hardened criminals making a desperate bid for freedom. Problem was, they dragged Curren along with them, and he-scared out of his wits-could only allow himself to be swept along…

Now, _they_ were elsewhere, and Curren lost somewhere in Central Park. He had no money, nowhere to go, and he'd lost his glasses in the scuffle.

Without them, he was virtually blind.

He was currently hiding in a less used part of the park, a hidden bower, and right in front of him, the gnarliest… _ugliest-looking_ tree he had ever seen.

It looked almost…human…with the trunk serving for torso, roots for feet, and branches for arms…

 _Please…_ he entreated it. _I need help._

More than just a place to hide, the ache in his chest, the loss of his wife and family…

He needed more than that.

He needed… _Justice…_

 _Roots snake out from the gnarled tree, wrap gently around John Curren, draw him close, and draws him into a barked embrace. Something opens, and Curren is drawn…inside, where it is cool and dark. Curren tastes sap on his tongue. He drinks, and all he feels is peace. He can hide here. He_ _ **will**_ _have justice._

 _Vengeance_ _ **will**_ _be wrought upon the heads of those who so cruelly betrayed him…_

He closed his eyes and slept, suddenly secure in the knowledge that he had an ally.

When he awoke, he would have his revenge upon those who had hurt him.

Willard Tappan.

And Jack McCoy…


	2. Chapter 2

_June, 2002_

 _Newman Halfway House_

He's paralyzed; can't move his arms or legs. Strapped down naked upon a cold hard slab…

 _They_ look down upon him with their dispassionate black-eyed gaze, surgical tools in hand.

 _Wake up, Jack. It's not real. It's just a dream…_

Frigid hands touch him, spider-thin fingers trailing across his bare chest, and he's whimpering in pure terror.

 _C'mon, Jack…I'm here. Wake the hell up!_

Indecipherable alien eyes peer down at him as his head and neck is immobilized, as the drill begins to descend…

Jack McCoy jolted awake with a cry of terror.

He wasn't there. He was _here_ , in his room at Newman Halfway House, James Smith sitting by his side, Smith's hand on his shoulders.

 _Not…_ _ **there.**_

Not where the aliens were, not being experimented upon.

"You back?" James Smith asked.

"Yeah…" McCoy sat up, clutched a pillow to his chest as he wiped his face, wiped the tears away…

"You want to talk about it?" Smith asked.

"No."

 _What good would that do?_

…..

 _Central Park_

 _2:30 AM_

Jeanie and Phil. Two teenagers in heat…

They'd escaped parental vigilance, crept out of bedroom windows, or down fire escapes, to have this one night all to themselves.

Phil had found this one place, where interruption was all but impossible. The grass was soft, the view blocked from several different directions; and everything overseen by this gnarly-looking tree that sort of looked like a man.

Jeanie lay back, Phil on top, fumbling as only a teenager can, but she didn't mind. She was a teenager too. Instead, she looked up, at the tree they were under. It sort of had a face…

Eyes blinked down at her…

…..

Jack McCoy felt a bit out of sorts today. That nightmare always did it to him…

Now, it was late morning, and a warm day in June, and he had trash to pick up…

The smell of rotting meat wafted across the area.

 _Great…_

McCoy sighed as he hefted the trash stick, and lugged the trash bag he carried, searching for that awful smell.

 _People are pigs…_

Then, he heard the buzzing sound.

 _Flies…_

Flies always found rotting garbage before Park Personnel did. But the buzzing was…loud; like there were lots of flies; and now alarm tingled along McCoy's nerves.

This was a rather out-of-the-way part of the Park, not an easy place for litterbugs to get to.

McCoy followed the buzzing down to its source, a gnarled old tree shaped sort of like a human. The smell-fresh blood, rotting meat, and offal-was overpowering.

McCoy backed up, retching. The body parts were almost completely hidden by a blanket of flies. But McCoy saw a hand, and enough of a human torso to know murder had been done there.

Under that gnarled-looking tree.

He fled, looking for someone to report to…

…..

Detective Mike Logan retched, holding a handkerchief to his mouth, desperately wishing for something… _anything_ …to relieve the stench.

"That's what it smells like when someone's bowels have been ripped open."

Logan could have done without the ME's cheerful tone.

"Here," He heard Ed Green's voice, another handkerchief-a _perfumed_ one-held in front of his face.

"Thanks," Logan snatched it, held it to his nose and mouth.

 _Now_ , he could concentrate on the ME and the victims.

"What happened here?" he asked, and the ME shrugged.

"Kids enjoying what comes naturally, I guess," he said. "Then someone…or _something_ …interrupted their midnight revels."

"Midnight revels?" Logan raised an eyebrow.

"Whoever, or whatever, caught them flagrante delicto," the ME shrugged again. "As near as I can tell, this happened in the early morning, somewhere between two to three in the morning. We'll know more when we autopsy…"

"Where's the witness who called it in?"

"Over there," the ME waved vaguely, attention focused on the two victims. Logan glanced briefly at the victims, and shuddered as he looked away.

 _Who…_ _ **what**_ _…could do that to two kids?_

"We're here Mike," Logan followed Ed Green's voice, and there the witness was, sitting next to Green.

"Jack?"

"Yeah…" McCoy looked gray, and who could blame him?

"You know we have to ask you about this," Logan said.

McCoy nodded, glanced at the site.

"I just found them, Mike. Like that."

"I know…" Logan sighed. "How's about we talk over coffee? I know I could use one. How about you?"

McCoy nodded shakily.

"Yeah," he said. "A coffee would be nice."

"Let's go," Logan and Green moved, McCoy between them, away from the murder site, and that tree…


	3. Chapter 3

"Heard you had a bit of an adventure this morning…"

Jack McCoy snorted inelegantly at Dr. Emil Skoda's ill-disguised question.

"Yeah, Emil…If finding a pair of teenagers who had been physically torn apart by something unknown constitutes an adventure, then yes, I did have an adventure this morning."

He still couldn't get the smell out of his head.

"You're looking a little queasy, Jack."

"You'd be queasy too, if you'd seen what I saw…"

McCoy's head was down, eyes focused on the floor, images of torn bodies, and scattered entrails, playing through his head.

"Would you like some tea, Jack? I find it helps when I'm feeling…queasy."

"Yeah…sure…" McCoy shrugged. Skoda always kept a pot full of hot water on hand; and a stock of Darjeeling.

Dr. Skoda was right. The tea, the floral aroma, chased the smell of torn bodies, and ruptured internal organs, right out of his head.

"Feeling better?" Skoda asked.

McCoy nodded as he sipped the hot tea.

"Good," Skoda leaned forward. "Heard you had another nightmare last night."

"Yeah, Emil," desolation flitted through McCoy. This was his life nowadays, a far cry from the life he'd originally planned for himself.

The nightmares and the migraines... the panic attacks that came without warning…

And yet, Skoda talked to him every week, without even a hint of judgement in him.

McCoy knew what his father-Jack Senior-would have done.

 _All the kid needs is a good smack upside the head…_

He'd heard his father say that countless times, _all_ _this generation needs is a good swift smack to the head…_

McCoy shook his head sadly.

"Where are you, Jack?" Skoda asked.

McCoy sighed.

"Nowhere, Emil…"

…..

 _27_ _th_ _Precinct_

Detective Mike Logan looked at the black and white photos in his hand.

 _The two kids killed in the park…_

Even Elizabeth Rodgers hadn't been able to do much with the bodies.

"I can't tell you who-or _what_ -killed them," she had said. "All I can tell you is that _something_ literally tore those poor kids limb from limb."

Logan shuddered at the memory. Entrails had been scattered all over the ground under that ugly tree.

"Must be some sort of wild animal," he had said to Rodgers.

"Hm…no," Rodgers had shook her head. "Even though the bodies had been torn apart, there was no indication of predatory activity."

"You mean…"

"Whatever killed them didn't _eat_ them," Rodgers has stared back at him. "As far as I know, the only species that kills for no reason is H. Sapiens…"

 _Us…_

Logan brought himself back to now; and the photographs on his desk.

 _Someone strong enough to tear two kids apart like that…_

"Mike," Lieutenant Anita Van Buren standing just outside her office. "A minute of your time?"

Logan stood and followed Van Buren into her office.

FBI Agents Dana Scully and John Doggett were there.

 _Uh-oh…There goes the neighborhood…_

"Lieu?" he turned to Van Buren.

"There's no shame in saying we're in over our heads, Mike. And these _X-Files_ Agents may be able to help."

"Yes," Dana Scully nodded. "We have files on things that would…turn your hair gray."

"Fine!" Logan snapped. "You got anything on something that can turn two teenaged kids into sausage?"

"Quite a few, actually," Scully's voice was cool, but Logan saw Doggett roll his eyes a little.

"John?"

"S'nothing, Mikey," Doggett shrugged. "Dana believes in Little Green Men. I don't."

"Well…"Logan drew out the photos, laid them on Van Buren's desk. "Little Green Men didn't do _this_."

The FBI Agents' reactions were interesting. It was Doggett who flinched at the sight. Scully didn't even bat an eyelid. She picked up the photos, examining them carefully, features calm and composed.

"I presume the bodies are in the morgue?"

"You presume correctly," Van Buren said.

"Good," Scully nodded. "I'll want to look at them as soon as possible."

"I'll let Dr. Rodgers know," Van Buren picked up her office phone. "Will you need directions there?"

"Thank you, no," Scully smiled briefly. 'I remember from the last time I was here."

Logan let out a breath after Scully and Doggett had left for the Morgue.

"She didn't even twitch, Lieu! At the discovery site, we were all that close to losing our cookies; and this woman…"

He shook his head in something close to admiration.

"Agent Scully must have nerves of steel."


	4. Chapter 4

"Are we absolutely sure this was done by a human?"

Agent Dana Scully stood between two slabs, looking down at the…bodies…remains… _detritus_ lying there.

 _Two kinds…caught in the act of making love…_

Whatever had attacked them had torn their bodies apart, arms and legs torn right off.

 _Even the strongest man I've ever seen wouldn't be strong enough to do that. A gorilla might have the strength._

But, for all of their strength, gorillas were a remarkable peaceful species, far more likely to flee intruders than attack.

 _No gorillas reported as missing by the local zoos either._

Scully sighed.

 _Fox would have loved this. He would have found an explanation-an utterly outrageous explanation-and he would have been right…_

Working with Fox Mulder, she had seen things the scientist in her could hardly credit as real. Yet, they _had_ been real; as real as anything else in the world…

There was also that missing Neanderthal from the Hunter Incident of last year.

 _Might he be strong enough to tear the bodies of two kids apart?_

 _No way to know for sure…_

All she could do was describe her findings to the detectives of the 27th Precinct, set them loose, and hope they found something…

…..

Back at Central Park, a light, drizzling rain. Jack McCoy had been paired with his least favorite person, working together to do the last trash pickup for the day…

 _If only I hadn't had that breakdown…_

McCoy sighed as he helped Willard Tappan clear away the last of the day's trash.

 _If I hadn't gotten sick, Tappan would be in prison right now, and John Curren…_

The man had been caught up in a prison escape, his current whereabouts a mystery.

 _He's probably dead, his bones in a shallow grave, and all because he got caught between two swindlers…_

"You're not exactly please to be working alongside me," Tappan smirked.

McCoy gritted his teeth, and maintained his silence. Tappan, seemingly unaware, continued talking.

"I was gob-smacked when you arrived here, at the Halfway House. The high and mighty Jack McCoy, Alpha Male of the court-house, reduced to doing three years of Community Service. What was it that brought you down, Jack?"

McCoy huffed as he put the last of the garbage in the bag. Then he looked back at Tappan.

"I'm not your friend," he said. "And you're not mine. In a just world, you would be in prison right now, for the rest of your life."

And, you, Jack…" Tappan chuckled. "In a just world…where would _you_ be?"

That hurt…

In a just world…

He sighed as he turned away from Tappan.

 _In a just world, I would be sane, Executive Assistant DA, and prosecuting criminals, instead of working with one…_

Due to rain, there were only a few people around, mostly students, twenty-somethings, and one man who was looking directly at him, and Tappan.

McCoy looked back at him, recognition jolting through his veins.

 _John Curren?_

McCoy stared back at him.

 _Was_ it John Curren?

He didn't look quite right, unshaven, hair a tangled mess, clothes ragged-looking, and his eyes…

"Hey!" McCoy called out, running over.

Curren fled, and McCoy raced to catch up, but Curren was too fast…

 _Way_ too fast.

Here one moment, gone the next…

"Jack!" Tappan's voice brought him back. "Work's done. Let's go back."

McCoy scarcely heard.

 _That_ _ **was**_ _John Curren. He was looking right at me._

Utter hate lay in Curren's white-eyed gaze, all of it aimed right at Jack McCoy…


	5. Chapter 5

"Mike!"

Detective Mike Logan looked up at the sound of Jack McCoy's voice, surprised to see him at the 27th Precinct. The man looked rattled.

"I think I saw…something…" the one-time attorney said.

Logan had McCoy sit, worried about his mental state.

"You okay, Jack?"

McCoy scowled as he took a seat by the detective's desk.

"Think I'm hallucinating? Yeah, I have nightmares. Panic attacks too. But I don't see things that aren't there."

He paused,

"I saw John Curren."

"Curren…" Logan remembered the Kapinski Murder.

 _Around the time McCoy had his breakdown…_

 _Sentenced Twenty-five to Life. Caught up in a mass prison escape…_

"Curren's dead, Jack."

"Body ever found?"

"Well…no," Logan shrugged. "But…"

"I _saw_ Curren," McCoy insisted. "He was… _there_ …at Central Park."

Logan sighed, shoulders slumping wearily.

"Okay, Jack…" he sighed. "What did he look like?"

McCoy shook his head.

"He…he looked like hell, Mike…ragged, emaciated. His skin looked rough, and his eyes…"

McCoy shivered as he looked back at Logan.

"His eyes were white, like cataracts…"

His head bowed.

"I let him down, Mike…"

"Jack…"

"I got Curren to plead out. The deal was that I would use him to testify against Tappan. Then…"

 _The breakdown…_

Jack McCoy wasn't there to prosecute Willard Tappan for his role in Arthur Kapinski's murder.

 _So Tappan walked, and Curren went to prison…_

Mike Logan laid a hand on McCoy's shoulder.

"I'll tell Van Buren. If Curren's hiding out in Central Park, we'll find him…"

…..

 _Central Park_

John Curren felt a gratitude for the Tree so intense, it bordered on worshipful adoration.

It gave him shelter and peace.

 _At such a low cost…_

Every once in a while, the Tree required blood, and some small amounts of flesh.

The teenagers' blood had seeped into the ground over the night, feeding the Roots; enough blood to keep the Tree for several months.

 _When it hungers again, I will find something to satiate its thirst._

Curren walked up to the Tree…

His savior…his protector…

It opened up to him, letting Curren back inside, offering sweet sap to drink.

John Curren closed his eyes, in rapturous contentment.

He knew where Willard Tappan and Jack McCoy were.

That they had been working together came as no surprise to Curren.

 _They were working together right from the start…_

When the Tree thirsted again, he would offer _them_ up to the tree.

Willard Tappan and Jack McCoy…

 _Their blood will feed the Tree…_


	6. Chapter 6

"How are you feeling today, Jack?"

Jack McCoy shrugged irritably as he continued washing the dirty dishes after lunch at the Halfway House. Emil Skoda had dropped in just as everyone was taking off for their afternoon chores.

So Skoda sat at the table, sipping a coffee, and watching McCoy wash pots, pans, plates, bowls, and silverware.

"I'm okay," McCoy shrugged again.

"Have you given any thought as to what you're going to do when your term of Community Service is done?"

"Not really, Emil," McCoy set one plate in the drying rack, started scrubbing a drinking glass. "Still got a few years left."

"Tempus Fugit, Jack. It'll be time before you know it. You should start thinking ahead _now._ "

"Thinking ahead for _what?_ " McCoy turned around, still wiping the inside of the drinking glass. "I lost my license to practice Law, and with a criminal record, I'm not going to get it back!"

"There are other things you could do," Skoda spoke quietly; the Voice of Reason…

"I guess…" McCoy turned back to the sink. "I sort of like working at the park."

"You do?"

"No one's life in the balance, Emil…No more _Hang'em High McCoy_ …"

The drinking glass in McCoy's hands shattered, and McCoy, cursing, shut off the water.

"Let me look, Jack," Skoda had come over, took McCoy's hands in his, saw the thing Jack McCoy had hoped _no one_ would ever see…

The cuts and abrasions on his fingers were bleeding sluggishly.

Green.

Green smearing on the knuckles, on the back and front of his hands.

McCoy looked up fearfully at Skoda, saw the stunned shock in the psychiatrist's eyes as they both watched the wounds close and disappear in less than a minute, leaving only a drying green crust behind.

Skoda's pale eyes met his.

"How?" he asked; and McCoy sighed.

 _If I tell him the truth, he'll think I'm insane._

He remembered George Atkinson telling him he was a Human/Alien Hybrid.

 _What will Emil do if I tell him?_

…..

Willard Tappan had finished trash disposal for the day. Now, after putting empty trash bag in the shed, he decided to take a shortcut through the park, past that ugly-looking tree.

 _Odd…_

Tappan stopped to look at it,

 _It really does sort of look like a human being…_

Tappan looked around. No one else was there.

 _Good. I'm dying for a smoke…_

Smoking wasn't allowed in the Halfway House. It wasn't allowed in the Park either. But those employees who did smoke knew of a few good places where you could get away with it, provided you were careful.

This spot was one such place. Tappan sighed as he brought out the cigar…

Years ago, before his fall from grace, this had been his regular brand, something he took for granted.

Now…

Tappan brought it up to his nose, inhaled the aroma.

Now, it was the sweetest luxury imaginable.

Expertly, he trimmed off the end, lit the cigar, and drew the spicy smoke into his lungs.

Heaven…

A poignant reminder of better days.

Someone was behind him, standing silently.

"Give me a minute," Tappan said.

In response, a hand, horny and calloused, grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and Willard Tappan saw…

Tangled, matted hair, skin rough and pitted, eyes white through and through. Tappan knew the face.

 _John Curren…_

…..

"Damn," Dirk Bentley, Jack McCoy's immediate supervisor said. "Tappan forgot his stick. Could you take it back to the shed?"

"Yeah…" McCoy picked up the stick with his free hand. Now, loaded down with _his_ trash bag, and two pickup sticks, he headed down to the shed.

There, he could smell cigar smoke.

It smelled expensive, but McCoy was no expert on cigars.

The shriek of agony stopped him in his tracks. It sounded an awful lot like…

 _Someone getting torn limb from limb…_

"What the hell was that?" Bentley, running up behind.

"Don't know…" McCoy was shivering. He felt his boss lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Stay with me, Jack, I'm going to call the cops…"

…..

 _Another one…_

At least Detective Mike Logan had had the foresight to keep a bottle of aftershave on his person since that last murder. So he was prepared this time.

 _As prepared as anyone can be to see a body literally torn limb from limb…_

At least it wasn't a kid this time…

 _Willard Tappan…_

The head had been torn right off the shoulders, lay on a bed of entrails right at the foot of the tree.

 _Couldn't have happened to someone who deserved it more…_

Ed Green was looking down at the body, arms, legs, and torso, scattered under the tree like a gruesome bouquet.

Scented cloth to his face, he nodded at the remains.

"I got this, Mike," he said. "Why don't you talk to the guys who called it in?"

Logan nodded gratefully, then turned back to Dirk Bentley…

And Jack McCoy.

"You guys see, or hear, anything?"

"We didn't see anything, Mike," McCoy spoke up. "We heard Tappan scream. That's it."

"Yeah," Bentley nodded. "We were together when it happened."

The man paused, drew Logan aside, out of McCoy's hearing.

"Can I ask you a favor, Detective?" he lowered his voice

"Sure."

"Jack's supposed to be back at the Halfway House by now. I'd hate to see him earn an Infraction for things beyond his control."

"I'll drive McCoy home," Logan nodded. "And I'll explain what happened."

"Thank you," the man closed his eyes. "Jack's a good man, and I'm not entirely sure he deserves…this."

 _Neither am I…_

Logan turned back.

"Ed!" he called. "I'm going to get Jack back to the House. I'll come right back."

Green nodded and waved vaguely.

"C'mon, Jack," Logan took McCoy's arm. "Let's get you back to the House."

McCoy didn't speak until they were on their way.

"Found any trace of John Curren?"

Logan's hands tightened on the steering wheel.

"Not yet, buddy…"

"I think he's connected to this, Mike." McCoy was staring straight ahead.

"Jack…whatever killed those kids, and Tappan too, wasn't human. A human simply wouldn't have the strength to pull another human's body apart like that. It's an animal of some sort. We'll find it and put it down. Or Animal Control will. As for John Curren, we'll find him. One way or another, we will. Trust me."

…..

Emil Skoda let himself into his apartment.

Jack McCoy seemed to be in a better place now. He _seemed_ to be adjusting…

 _Seemed…_

After seeing McCoy's cut hands, though...

Skoda had demanded an explanation, and Jack McCoy had given one…

 _Crap…_

Skoda sighed.

 _"I was abducted, Emil…_ " McCoy had said. _"Aliens...They drilled into my skull, into my brain. They…changed me…"_

The man had sighed, head bowed as he made the confession.

 _"I'm a Human/Alien Hybrid…"_

Jack McCoy _wasn't_ in a better place now. He _wasn't_ adjusting, or recovering.

He was ill. Far more so than Skoda had previously thought.

…..

John Curren had reveled in the strength the Tree gave him.

 _It's the sap…_

Curren realized this now, as he his inside the tree, body smeared and streaked with blood.

 _Willard Tappan's blood…_

He would treasure, forever, the look of Stunned terror in Tappan's eyes…

 _As I tore his arms right off…_

He closed his eyes in pure contentment, drinking the Tree's freely offered sap.

 _Only one left now…_

Jack McCoy…


	7. Chapter 7

_Patient: McCoy, John James_

 _The patient is seemingly adapting to life at the Halfway House. He is, however, still plagued by nightmares and panic attacks. Also, he suffers from periodic migraine attacks that completely incapacitate him._

 _Further, he is suffering from an underlying psychosis that apparently derives from his abduction in Nineteen Ninety-Six. (See attached File)_

 _He has also manifested an unusual medical condition. I've ordered a full medical examination-bloodwork, and neurological-to find an explanation for what I witnessed the other day._

Dr. Emil Skoda sighed as he rubbed his eyes. He had seen a man bleed green the other day. He had seen those glass-cuts on Jack McCoy's fingers and hands close up and heal; in a matter of minutes.

 _There has to be a medical explanation for that…_

…..

 _Morgue_

FBI Agent Dana Scully stood next to Dr. Elizabeth Rodgers, looking down at the body on the slab. John Doggett had taken one look at the remains, gone white as a sheet, and decided he would be better off helping the detectives of the 27th find the killer.

Contrary to what the people at the 27th believed, Dana Scully was certain the killer was a human.

Or at least humanoid.

But not a gorilla or chimpanzee.

This time they'd been able to get fingerprints, off what was left of Willard Tappan's arms, legs, and his torso.

The fingerprints were identified as belonging to one John Curren; a man convicted of murder, and missing in the wake of a mass prison escape some years before.

"I don't understand," Rodgers said at last. "How could John Curren have the strength to do this?"

Dana Scully sighed. She had seen so many things since she had joined the _X-Files Division_ ; things she had believed impossible only a few short years before…

Aliens…Flukemen…And other various and assorted things that did considerably more than go bump in the night…

"Given enough rage, anything might be possible."

She had read the file on John Curren. He'd had every reason to hate Willard Tappan.

 _Swindled out of his lifesavings by Tappan…_

He'd apparently pled Guilty so the then-prosecuting attorney could use him against Tappan.

Jack McCoy…

McCoy had his breakdown around that time.

Scully sighed again.

 _So, he went to stay with a friend, and that friend was killed in a home invasion, and Jack disappeared, taken by Jeremiah Smith, and everyone thought he was dead. Curren must hate Jack McCoy too._

…..

"He's back…" John Doggett heard Mike Logan's cheerful voice. "And there goes the neighborhood…"

"Hey, Mikey, I'm here to help you find this…Curren guy."

"Gee…Johnny, I'm so disappointed. No Little Green Men? Or ghosts? Or whatever it is you guys go after?"

"You've got a guy who's tearing people apart with his bare hands, Mikey. Think that's enough for now. Don't you?"

"It's gotta be an animal!" Logan protested. "I saw Curren way back when he was arrested in the Kapinski Case. There's no way he did any of this."

Doggett sighed.

"That's exactly what the fingerprints _are_ saying, Mikey."

"John?" Logan tilted his head. "You _serious_ about this?"

"Curren's fingerprints were all over the body," Doggett informed him, as his cell phone rang.

"Doggett here,"

"It's me," Dana Scully, calm and collected as ever. "Where are you?"

"The 27th. Why?"

"Jack McCoy…he needs to be placed in protective custody right away."

"Scully?"

"The kids were killed because there were encroaching on his territory, but Willard Tappan…Tappan had hurt John Curren, had swindled him, victimized him."

"McCoy?"

"Guilty of bad timing. Jack McCoy was set to prosecute Tappan for the Kapinski Murder. He got Curren to plead Guilty, so he could testify against Tappan. Then…he had that breakdown…"

"Yes…I guess…"

"I'll talk to Van Buren, John. You and Mike Logan need to go get Jack out of the House. I'll see if there's a safe place for him to stay until this is over."

"Okay, Dana. I'll tell Mike, and we'll go."

"Go where?" Mike Logan asked as Doggett put his phone away.

"Agent Scully thinks John Curren wants to kill Jack McCoy too. We need to put McCoy in protective custody."

"Right," Logan grabbed his leather jacket. "Let's go. Jack's had enough shit happen to him these last few years. Ed! We're going now!"

"Yeah," Ed Green grabbed his jacket too, and all three men were off to the Halfway House.


	8. Chapter 8

Detectives Logan and Green arrived at Newman Halfway House, with Agent John Doggett, only to find the place in an uproar.

Several squad cars were already there, lights awhirl, the place swarming with police.

And ambulances…

"What happened?" Logan asked a cop, his Police ID out.

"Some sort of attack," the cop said. "Whoever it was, he went through the place like a knife through hot butter."

"Where's the Director?"

Logan had met Gus Hogan once.

 _A decent guy…_

"Over there…" the cop waved vaguely. "Along with the rest of the bodies…"

Logan followed the wave to a neat row of sheet-draped bodies. Five bodies, to be exact.

Stan Profaci walked up to Logan.

"What happened?" Logan demanded.

"Witnesses say this guy just…tore through the building, tore through all the guards and attendants. He apparently killed the Director too."

Profaci looked gray as he continued.

"He killed some of the Residents too; whoever got in his way."

"Jack McCoy?"

"Not here."

"What happened here?" another voice from behind. Logan turned to see Dr. Emil Skoda.

"Dr. Skoda…what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to Jack," Skoda snapped. "Where is he?"

"According to witnesses, he's not here," Profaci replied. "The guy who attacked the place grabbed him and ran off."

The teenagers, and Willard Tappan…

Was Jack McCoy going to end like them?

 _The Tree…_

 _He killed all his victims there…_

"The Tree!" he said. "We need to go there now, before it's too late!"

He didn't want Jack McCoy to die.

 _Especially like that…_

…..

John Curren laid his unconscious victim down, right under the Tree. Its roots snaked out, like tentacles, wrapping around the victim's ankles, tying them together.

 _Jack McCoy won't be able to escape Justice this time…_

Curren would have loved nothing more than to rend Jack McCoy's body apart right now. He would have loved to see McCoy's blood seep into the ground, feed the roots, and feed the Tree the blood it needed…

But Curren had used all of his sap-produced strength in the attack on the Halfway House; on killing all of those foolish enough to get in his way. He'd been forced to settle for merely knocking Jack McCoy out.

 _I'll drink some sap,_ he decided. _Then, I'll kill McCoy as I killed the others…_

 _Please, let me in,_ he prayed to the Tree, and it opened to him, let him in, offered him of itself, giving sweet sap to drink…

…..

Grass soft under his cheek, the feeling of tree-roots under his body.

Sirens wailing in the distance…

Jack McCoy's eyes fluttered open as he awakened to a throbbing head.

Memory was slow in coming.

At the House…

 _Skoda called, said he wanted to talk to me…_

 _It was almost time for Dinner…Everyone was in the Rec Room…_

 _Then the Main Door just…exploded; and this whirling fury burst in…_

There wasn't much after that. Just brief impressions much like being in a tornado's path.

 _Where am I?_

McCoy tried to move.

 _My feet…_

He sat up. Somehow, tree roots had tangled around his ankles, binding them together securely.

Fright tingled its way down his spine as he looked up at the Tree.

 _Those kids were killed here..._

 _Willard Tappan was killed here…_

McCoy didn't want to die here. Not like that.

His fingers poked and prodded at the roots binding his ankles. They didn't even give an inch.

Then, McCoy heard this rumbling, creaking sound, the tree's trunk opened, and this…scarecrow of a man stepped out.

McCoy recognized him.

"John Curren."

The man moved jerkily as he swiveled to face McCoy.

Hair, matted and tangled, almost falling to his shoulders, skin rough and pitted, looking almost like tree bark, eyes white all the way through…

"Jack McCoy…" Curren's voice came out a sand-paper rasp. "You're just like Tappan, aren't you? Promise me the sun and the moon, then betray me, and let Tappan off…"

McCoy remembered the Kapinski Case, how he had cajoled Curren into pleading Guilty; so he could proceed against Willard Tappan.

 _And all it took to unravel everything was a mental breakdown…_

"Think I wanted that, John? I _wanted_ Tappan to pay for what he did to you."

"Then… _why_ didn't you?"

McCoy bowed his head, Curren's agonized wail echoing in his ears; and all he felt was shame.

Shame that he had so completely failed John Curren, and-by extension-everything he had ever believed in.

 _I want only two things,_ McCoy remembered saying this to Claire Kincaid.

 _Respect from the living, and justice for the Dead…_

"I'm sorry…" he whispered. "I didn't…I…I had a breakdown, had to be put in a hospital. I was out of my head for a good long while. It wasn't my plan to leave you hanging like that; or to let Tappan walk the way he did."

"Well, you did!" Curren snapped. He stood there, aiming that white-eyed gaze down at Jack McCoy

" _Everyone_ betrayed me!" he snarled. "Tappan robbed me, and Kapinski too. _You_ left me to rot, and my wife divorced me. Each and every single one of you stole from me. You took _everything_ from me. Money, home, family, career, and self-respect."

He sighed, laid his hand upon the tree's rough bark.

"Only this tree has proven a true friend. It gave me shelter, and sustenance. And it asks such a little thing in recompense, such a trivial thing…"

Now, he knelt, smiling; and McCoy was chilled at that smile.

"It's not a regular tree, Jack," Curren continued. "It needs blood, and flesh too. I was happy to give those two children to it; and even happier to give Willard Tappan's blood to it. Now, it's _your_ turn, Jack. Any last words?"

 _Last words..?_

McCoy looked around.

 _I'm going to die here…_

"Police! Freeze!"

Detective Mike Logan's voice, coming out of nowhere, was the sweetest sound Jack McCoy could ever remember hearing…

…..

"Police! Freeze!" Logan was appalled by the sight.

It _was_ John Curren.

The man snarled- _like an animal,_ Logan thought-and began to move.

" _Down,_ Jack!" Logan yelled, and obediently, McCoy threw himself flat to the ground, just in time to avoid the hail of bullets as every officer on the scene fired.

Bullets riddling his body, Curren fled.

 _Into the tree..?_

Logan blinked, heard various and assorted variations of _what the fuck?_ from all the other cops. Even Emil Skoda seemed a little startled.

"Skoda! Get Jack out of here!" Logan ordered. He watched as the psychiatrist ran up to McCoy, began fussing with the man's ankles.

"I can't," Skoda finally said. "The tree's roots have wound themselves around Jack's ankles."

"According to Curren, the tree drinks blood," Jack looked ill at the notion.

Logan knelt by him too, looking at the roots fixing his ankles together,

"It's my fault," McCoy looked down. "If only I had not gotten sick…"

"It's not your fault, Jack!" Logan heard Skoda's fierce denial. "You did the best you could. Curren's fate is his own fault, and no one else's."

A roar of rage filled the air as branches flailed and roots writhed. Logan pulled Skoda down, just in time to avoid a branch sweeping over their heads.

 _Fuck…_

Logan pulled out a knife he had always kept on his person, _just in case,_ and handed it to Skoda.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Cut Jack loose, and get him out of here!" Logan ordered. "We'll take care of Curren. And the tree too!"

…..

Emil Skoda hefted the knife in his hand. It wasn't big. But it looked wickedly sharp…

"Careful, Emil," Jack was shivering. "This tree likes blood. No slipping, please."

"Hold still, Jack. No jerking, please."

A psychiatrist, Skoda was a full MD. He had gone through the whole Internship and Residency program that all doctors went through. He had seen surgery up close.

 _Hope my hands are steady enough for this…_

With Jack McCoy holding still, so still he scarcely seemed to be breathing, Skoda grabbed one root, sliced into it as deeply as he could; and black, vile-smelling blood spurted out.

 _Blood…from a tree…_

Skoda didn't have much hair on his head, but what he did have was standing on end.

Especially when the tree started screaming…

Something hit him in the back, but he had braced for it, continued to cut McCoy's feet free from the bleeding roots…

Minutes later, he was dragging McCoy away, the other man trying to pull himself back to his feet, not quite succeeding.

With McCoy safely out of harm's reach, Skoda slumped to the ground, keeping protective arms around his patient.

"Everyone out of the way," Detective Ed Green spoke calmly.

He had a bottle in his hands. Aftershave, Skoda realized. Green opened the bottle, stuffed one of his linen handkerchiefs into the opening, brought out a lighter.

 _Uh-oh…_

Everyone got out of the way.

Green lit the thing, then hurled it at the tree.

 _He's got a good arm…_ Skoda thought distractedly, still holding onto McCoy.

The tree caught fire, flames racing up the humanlike trunk, spreading to the branches like wildfire, and the screaming-a high, keening wail-caught on his nerves.

Skoda wanted to curl up and plug his ears, block that awful sound. McCoy _did_ curl up, hands up to his head, over his ears.

And all the others too, all the cops. And…

 _The Tree bursts open in a ball of fire, and a…flaming creature…a man, races out, body wreathed in fire, hands outstretched, heading right for Skoda, and Jack McCoy…_

 _Skoda can't move. Rooted to the ground by pure, unabashed terror, all he can do is hold onto Jack McCoy…_

 _A hail of bullets bring the burning man down, and he falls to the ground just a few short feet away…_

…..

Detective Mike Logan stared down at the charred body.

 _Dead._

The Tree was still burning. It had stopped screaming, its branches had stopped thrashing.

 _Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…_

Jack McCoy was crouching just a few feet away, staring fixedly at Curren's body; Emil Skoda kneeling next to him, hand on his shoulder.

McCoy looked to be in shock, not moving, just staring at the charred corpse, and Logan remembered years past.

 _Jack's seen burned bodies before. He doesn't need this…_

"Get him to a hospital, Emil," he ordered. "We'll clean up here first…"

"Yeah…" Skoda sounded shaken too. He stood, hand still on McCoy's shoulder, as he guided the other man back to his feet.

…..

 _Bellevue Psychiatric Unit_

Dr. Emil Skoda heard the light knock on the door to the small Observation Room, and Mike Logan walked in.

"How is he?" the detective asked.

"Not good," Skoda sighed. "He hasn't moved or spoken since we got here."

Jack McCoy sat there, on the hospital bed, head bowed, staring at nothing.

Skoda remembered what McCoy had said, there, at the Tree.

 _It's my fault. If only I hadn't gotten sick…_

Skoda sighed again.

"I've signed him in, Detective Logan. A Seventy-Two Hour Hold. After that…we'll see."

"Shit…" Logan muttered. "He was beginning to come out of his shell too…"

"I know…"

"Why is this happening to him?"

"It's mental illness, Mike. It hits everyone differently. All we can do is be there for them, in every way we can."

Skoda looked down at his patient. McCoy was almost catatonic now, almost completely withdrawn.

And there was still the fact that he had seen Jack McCoy bleed green.

That was when the thought occurred to him.

 _I might be in over my head…_


End file.
